This wond'rous waste of tears, too much to

give

To an ungrateful friend and cruel brother.

Lav. Is there not a cause for weeping? Oh
Horatio!

A brother and a husband were my treasure,
'T was all the little wealth that poor Lavinia
Sav'd from the shipwreck of her father's for-

tunes.

One half is lost already; if thou leav'st me,
If thou shou❜dst prove unkind to me, as Alta-

mont,

Whom shall I find to pity my distress,

To have compassion on a helpless wanderer,
And give her where to lay her wretched head?
Hor. Why dost thou wound me with thy soft

complainings?

Tho' Altamont be false, and use me hardly,
Yet think not I impute his crimes to thee.
Talk not of being forsaken, for I'll keep thee
Next to my heart, my certain pledge of happi-

ness.

Heav'n form'd thee gentle, fair, and full of good

ness,

And made thee all my portion here on earth; gave thee to me as a large amends

It

For fortune, friends, and all the world beside.

375-378 Heav'n .. beside. Fomits.

.

360

365

370

375

Lav. Then you

ever,

will love me still, cherish me

And hide me from misfortune in your bosom: 380 Here end my cares, nor will I lose one thought, How we shall live, or purchase food and rai

ment.

The holy pow'r who clothes the senseless earth With woods, with fruits, with flow'rs, and verdant grass,

Whose bounteous hand feeds the whole brute

creation,

385 Knows all our wants, and has enough to give us. Hor. From Genoa, from falshood and incon

stancy,

To some more honest distant clime we'll go,
Nor will I be beholding to my country
For ought but thee, the partner of my flight.
Lav. Yes, I will follow thee; forsake, for

thee,

My country, brother, friends, ev'n all I have;
Tho' mine's a little all, yet were it more,
And better far, it shou'd be left for thee,

383 clothes. 1732, cloths.

386-387 give us

inconstancy. Between these two lines,

F inserts a line: But for the love I bear the good Sciolto.

388 we'll go. F, I'd go.

389 will I be. F, would I be. 394 And. F, Yes.

beholding. F, beholden.

390

And all that I wou'd keep shou'd be Horatio. 395
So when the merchant sees his vessel lost,
Tho' richly freighted from a foreign coast,
Gladly, for life, the treasure he wou'd give,
And only wishes to escape and live.

Gold and his gains, no more employ his mind, 400
But driving o'er the billows with the wind,
Cleaves to one faithful plank, and leaves the
rest behind.

Exeunt.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Scene, a Garden.

Enter Altamont.

Altamont. With what unequal tempers are we
form'd?

One day the soul, supine with ease and fulness,
Revels secure, and fondly tells her self,
The hour of evil can return no more;
The next, the spirit's pall'd, and sick of riot,
Turn all to discord, and we hate our beings,
Curse the past joy, and think it folly all,
And bitterness and anguish. Oh! last night!
What has ungrateful beauty paid me back
For all that mass of friendship which I squan-

der'd?

Coldness, aversion, tears, and sullen sorrow,
Dash'd all my bliss, and damp'd my bridal bed.
Soon as the morning dawn'd, she vanish'd from

me,

Relentless to the gentle call of love.
I have lost a friend, and I have gain'd
a wife!
Turn not to thought, my brain; but let me find
Some unfrequented shade; there lay me down,

1-19 With what . . . thinking. F omits. F opens Act IV with stage-direction: A garden. Lothario and Calista discovered seated.

And let forgetful dulness steal upon me,
To soften and asswage this pain of thinking.

Enter Lothario and Calista.

Exit.

Lothario. Weep not, my fair, but let the god
of love

Laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy heart,
Kindle again his torch, and hold it high,
To light us to new joys; nor let a thought
Of discord, or disquiet past, molest thee;
But to a long oblivion give thy cares,
And let us melt the present hour in bliss.
Calista. Seek not to sooth me with thy false
endearments,

To charm me with thy softness; 't is in vain ;
Thou can'st no more betray, nor I be ruin'd.
The hours of folly and of fond delight
Are wasted all and fled; those that remain
Are doom'd to weeping, anguish, and repent-

ance.

I come to charge thee with a long account
Of all the sorrows I have known already,
And all I have to come; thou hast undone

me.

Loth. Unjust Calista! dost thou call it ruin
To love as we have done; - to melt, to languish,
To wish for somewhat exquisitely happy,
And then be blest ev'n to that wish's height?

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